I have been accused—not by anyone we’d take seriously, of course, but the accusation has been made publicly, on the almighty Internet and thus I must address it—of laying traps for my husband.
As if he doesn’t get himself into plenty of trouble all on his own?
Also, even if I did lay traps, I wouldn’t have to hide them.
ME: I take it you’re not coming with me?
HIM: I am not.
ME: Because you don’t love me. (starts undressing)
HIM: I do like you!
ME: (gives ‘you’ve fucked up’ eyebrow)
ME: (reaches for phone)
HIM: What did I say?
ME: It’s fine.
HIM: (huffs) I have to read about it online now?
Plus, there are plenty of things I don’t tell you about. Like why we had to replace all our silicone spatulas.
ME: (hears cacophony of grinding and foul language from kitchen) (sighs, wanders into kitchen)
HIM: (looks up sheepishly) I was trying to get the fruit down (gestures at blender) and I put the lid back on and—
ME: You put the lid back on with the spatula still in there?
HIM: … Yeah.
ME: You had to leave the middle bit out to do that.
HIM: Yeah, I took it off.
ME: Instead of taking the spatula out?
HIM: I WASN’T THINKING!
ME: (sighs) You know the worst part? I can’t even tell anyone. Because nobody would ever believe me.
HIM: We’ll have to tell them you did it.
ME: You’re the one who left the big one in the garbage disposal! That was our last one.
HIM: (shrugs) We’ll buy more.
See? If anything I’m over here keeping his shameful secrets.
Making him look good.
I’m a fuckin’ Stepford wife.